


Delicate Lines

by Halvwyn



Series: Life of the Party Ficlets and Fics [11]
Category: Life of the Party D&D (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romantic Soulmates, Secret Identity, Secrets, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halvwyn/pseuds/Halvwyn
Summary: Growing up the child of soulmates, Cassian had waited eagerly for his own. When he was a younger man, he would look over his hands and arms, watching for a sign of his soulmate to appear on his skin. Decades of waiting turned into a hundred, and Cassian began to close off from the world, cruel humor wrapped around himself like armor. By the time one century had turned into two, he hadn’t thought of having a soulmate at all in decades, covering his face and arms with carefully designed henna to fill the space where the soulmate he was missing would have left him messages. At age 208, Cassian finds in a child’s handwriting “Hello,” written across his forearm, and he forgets how to breathe.Prince Vanden du Argentfort had always been painted.  Since infancy, his face and arms had been covered in delicate lines and swirls in a soft brown. He was taught from a young age what the lines meant: that somewhere in the world his soulmate was painting their own skin, and he would wear the designs for as long as they decided to have them.
Relationships: Cassian/Renard (Life of the Party)
Series: Life of the Party Ficlets and Fics [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681585
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Delicate Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooo LOTP fandom! I hope everyone survived Ep. 33!  
> This fic holds *no* Ep. 33 spoilers, but there *are* references to character backstories (though I may have taken unintentional liberties because my memory is holey-er than Vanden's) and other events from the show, so read at your own risk!
> 
> The prompt for this fic:  
> Whatever your soulmate writes on their skin stains yours as well. Vanden being covered in henna-colored tattoos his whole life. The signet ring covered them in public, but in private, Vanden would trace his fingers of the designs covering his skin.

Cassian Thiarin had grown up seeing the beauty of spending life with one’s soulmate. His parents had found each other a century before he’d been born, the pair’s conversations flowing easily and their interactions fluid. Occasionally, when his mother was called away for her talents, he would catch a glimpse of her flowing script appearing on his father’s forearm. Sometimes, his father would carefully apply henna to his skin, the pattern echoing across his mother’s. 

Growing up the child of soulmates, he had waited eagerly for his own. When he was a younger man, he would look over his hands and arms, watching for a sign of his soulmate to appear on his skin. Decades of waiting turned into a hundred, and Cassian began to close off from the world, cruel humor wrapped around himself like armor. By the time one century had turned into two, he hadn’t thought of having a soulmate at all in decades, covering his face and arms with carefully designed henna to fill the space where the soulmate he was missing would have left him messages. At age 208, Cassian finds in a child’s handwriting “Hello,” written across his forearm, and he forgets how to breathe. 

Prince Vanden du Argentfort had always been painted. Since infancy, his face and arms had been covered in delicate lines and swirls in a soft brown. He was taught from a young age what the lines meant: that somewhere in the world, his soulmate was painting their own skin, and he would wear the designs for as long as they decided to have them. As a child, his arms were hidden underneath long sleeves and high collars, his hair left messier than his brothers’ to conceal some of the patterns covering his face. “You have a duty to this family and city, Vanden,” he’d been reminded, “that must always come before a stranger.”

As he grew, long sleeves and messy hair were replaced with a signet ring, the magic humming over his skin and hiding the designs left by his soulmate from view. In the privacy of his rooms, however, Vanden often found himself sitting in front of his mirror, carefully tracing fingers over the lines covering his face and arms, imagining the person who had been painting them his whole life.

* * *

When Vanden was 19, he had read enough romance novels for the temptation to become too much to bear. Signet ring set on his desk, he reached for his quill, writing a simple note just at the end of the designs covering most of his forearms,  _ hello again.  _ He spent the rest of the evening on tenterhooks, glancing down at his arm, sleeve rolled up to his elbow. His breath caught in his throat as a flowing script appeared just below where his ink had dried  _ hello, yourself. _

When Cassian was 220, his soulmate started writing notes. Most of the time, they were short, simple things:  _ Have a good day _ , written just under where his henna ended on his inner arm one morning,  _ Sleep well _ , in the same place at night. Occasionally, however, he would be caught off guard by the words that appeared on his skin.  _ Are you as bored right now as I am? _ appeared down his forearm one afternoon, letters partially covered by henna, and he laughed outright before grabbing a quill,  _ With you writing on me all day? No. _ The next time he glanced down the word “hypocrite” was written across his left knuckles. He pointedly ignored the look his parents shared as they caught sight of his hand later that afternoon. 

They don’t talk about the specifics of who they are, knowing only that they both called Mirrortail their home, and that was enough for Cassian. He had spent 200 years thinking he was alone, if not knowing the details about his soulmate was the price for what he had, it was a price he was happy to pay.

* * *

The silent conversations became familiar, over the following few years. Lines of henna still covered hands and backs of arms, but from the skin from inner wrist to elbow was left blank. Pieces of their lives were shared without ever exchanging names, Cassian sharing his work as a tailor, Vanden explaining his work as the family business. Out on the sea, the words appearing across his skin gave Vanden something to come home to; fighting off wanderlust in his family home, they gave Cassian a reason to stay. 

When Cassian was 224, the words stopped completely. He hadn’t thought much of it in the beginning, they were both busy people after all. Days of silence turned to weeks, and concern began to sit uncomfortably on his chest. He began to leave short messages along his arm over the course of the day  _ everything alright?,  _ and  _ this isn’t like you _ ’s left unanswered. Weeks turned into months and the cold resignation he’d felt for two centuries settled back into his bones. Whether his soulmate had grown bored or died made little difference to the situation at hand. He pulled his bitterness around himself like armor, filled the space from inner wrist to elbow with delicate lines of henna once more.

In his cell beneath what had been his home, Vanden carefully traced the henna climbing up his arms, fingers pressing against them as if they were a lifeline. He thought he had broken when words appeared on his arms for the first time in weeks, asking questions he couldn’t answer. He realized, as weeks turned into months, that slowly watching the blank skin of his forearm fill with detailed henna was a much greater torture.

* * *

Vanden became Renard, his signet ring replaced once more with long sleeves and untamed hair, a mask ensuring his anonymity. When he met Cassian, skin covered in pale designs of fine lines and shapes, he locked his jaw to prevent the choked sob that wanted to slip past his lips, clenched his fists to keep from pulling him into his arms.

Traveling together was torture. Cassian was cold, words easily as sharp as the rapier that sat on Renard’s hip, and it felt so  _ wrong.  _ He had never imagined, when he wrote that first message, that this is how it would be. That his soulmate would be so close in proximity but so different than he had hoped, that he had to hold their connection so closely to his chest. So he kept his distance, threw back words just as sharp and himself in the tasks at hand.

When Renard noticed that Cassian, as he scrubbed of what remained of his henna and began to paint anew, spent an extra moment looking down at his inner arm with an emotion he couldn’t quite place, things were made all the harder.

* * *

When they reached Sanskra, and the wonderful privacy of a private bath and room, Renard let himself rest without his mask for the first time in weeks. He wasn’t thinking as he went to open the door, the sounds of Astra and Boblem talking outside, didn’t realize what’d he’d done until the door was open and the two men stared gape-faced.

It was Astra who spoke first, a gentle “Can we come inside?” spurring him into movement, stepping aside to let them in, barely registering as Boblem shut the door behind him as he moved to slump against his bed.

“....Please don’t tell him,” he all but whispered after a moment of tense silence, “I...he can’t know.”

Boblem crossed the room to perch at the foot of the bed, a small smile on the half-elf’s face, “I’m not gonna pretend I understand it. But it’s not our secret to tell, right Astra?” the tiefling nodded in agreement, concern weighing heavily on his creased brow.

“I’m not going to say anything either,” Astra assured, getting a weak smile from Renard in thanks, “but if it’s not too out of turn, I will say that it doesn’t seem right for the two of you to seem so lonely when your soulmates are right here.”

Before he could manage an answer, the conversation steered towards shopping trips and a visit to the baths. The pair in front of him spoke as if they hadn’t learned one of the secrets most important to him, hadn’t planted yet another inkling of guilt in his chest.

When they left, Renard bolted the door firmly behind him before pulling out his ink and quill from his pack. Sitting at his desk, he hesitated a long moment before taking the quill to just below his knuckles 

_ I’m sorry. _

He doesn’t see Cassian stare wide-eyed at the back of his hand, nor does he hear the slew of curses that bounce off the bathhouse walls.

* * *

The party escaped Sanskra, survived an ancient pyramid, and yet the cold dread as Jocelyn caught him alone, a knowing look in her eyes was somehow worse. “He doesn’t know, does he?” she murmured, coming to sit next to him. She sighed softly as he shook his head. “Vanden...”

“I  _ couldn’t _ , Jocelyn. I...I wasn’t  _ me.  _ And I couldn’t tell him one without the other, and-”

“Take a breath, Vanden,” she cut in, one of her hands gently covering his, "It’s your choice to make, ultimately, and I trust you’ll make the best one you can.” 

They were quiet for a long moment, save for the sound of their breathing, before Vanden spoke again, “What if I don’t know what the best decision is anymore?” he asked, staring down at the ground in front of them, “Before the attack...I thought trying to get to know him was the best I could do, and then when I met him, I was sure keeping it a secret was the only option I had...” his voice trailed off.

Jocelyn nodded slightly, quiet as she thought of an answer, “Then I think you have a lot of thinking to do."

* * *

It isn’t until after the fight at the abbey, after their sparring match and fighting side-by-side, that Vanden told him.

They were once again sharing watch, the rest of the party asleep, when Vanden drops a gentle hand to Cassian’s shoulder, the man looking up from his spellbook in confusion, “Something wrong?”

“Can we talk?” Vanden asked in lieu of answering, “Privately?”

Cassian’s brow furrowed as he nodded, returning his book to its place and following behind Vanden till they were out of earshot of camp. “I...need to tell you something, and I’m not sure how to do so.”

“I’ve heard just saying what you wish to say can do wonders. That does seem like a weak point for you, however, so I cannot help you with that,” the wizard crossed his arms and the corners of his mouth quirked up into a hint of smile, the words biting but lacking any real heat.

“Humor, ha,” Vanden muttered, “I have been...not entirely honest with you,” he began, being cut off by Cassian’s short laugh.

“Is that what we’re calling it? Look, I can’t say it was a pleasant way to discover you are my prince, but we all have our secrets...Was that all?”

“ _ No,  _ I....” he ran a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, “you’re making this so much more difficult than it has to be.” Vanden cut himself off before more could be said, “I don’t know how to say this, so...fuck it,” sliding his hand from his hair to the ties of his mask, Vanden carefully pulled it off his face, Cassian’s eyes widening.

They stood in absolute silence for several long moments as Cassian’s eyes raked over his face, soft brown lines mimicking the golden ones he knew covered his own face, “You knew the whole time, you absolute prick.” he murmured.

“Cassian, I-”

“Oh no, I get to be mad about this. We have been traveling together for  _ how long now _ and you  _ knew  _ the  _ whole time. _ I thought-” the wizard clamped his jaw shut as he stared down the man in front of him, “What the hell were you trying to do in Sanskra, hm?  _ I’m sorry _ ? I assumed you were dead, and clearly you hadn’t planned on telling me any of this, so what? Was it to make yourself feel better? Did you enjoy having your little secret?”

“That’s not fair, and you know it. Cassian, what did you  _ want me to say _ ? ‘Hello! My companion said my name is Renard, but that’s a lie, I’m actually your prince and also happen to be your soulmate who disappeared for three months while I sat in my own damn dungeon!’” he cut himself off for a brief moment as he collected his thoughts, “you know what? Forget it, I don’t know what I expected from this....I’m going to walk the perimeter. Just...” Cutting himself off once more, he turned on his heel, walking off back towards camp.

* * *

It was several days before anything changed between them. Vanden continued to hide behind the metal mask, wielding it like a shield against his companions’ concerned glances. 

He had taken his gloves off, the weather warm enough for the leather to sit uncomfortably against his skin, and the rest of the party busy enough that he wasn’t concerned about them noticing. Setting to work on pitching camp, he didn’t know how long it took him to notice the writing that had appeared on the back of his hand.  _ Some pair, aren’t we?  _

Vanden whirled around and caught Cassian’s eye, the elf exiting camp as soon as their gazes broke. Cursing softly, Vanden followed behind. A few steps behind Cassian, Vanden found the similarity of the moment to the last time they had been alone together almost funny. After several minutes, Cassian turned to face him. 

“Well?” Vanden asked before Cassian could speak,

Cassian sighed smoothing his hair back with a hand before speaking, “I...believe I owe you an apology. I was unfair when we last spoke.”

Vanden blinked, breath punched out of him in surprise, “I...you...you were right, if I could have told you sooner-" he broke off before finishing his thought, "if we’re being honest here, keeping it a secret was awful.”

“My note stands true, we certainly are a pair.” Cassian smiled slightly as Vanden hummed in agreement, eyes carefully locked on each other. The two fell into silence, not necessarily comfortable, but lacking the tension it had in the days following Vanden’s confession. “It would not be easy, you and I. Our...relationship never has been and I expect that to remain the same for the foreseeable future.”

Vanden’s face fell despite himself, leaving him grateful for the mask still covering most of it, “I see, you want-”

“What I  _ want  _ is for you to take that damned mask off, I would quite like to see your face,” Vanden stared for a long moment before slowly reaching up and removing the mask, dropping it softly into the grass beside him. Cassian hummed appreciatively as he stepped forward, just outside of Vanden’s space.

To Cassian’s surprise as much as his own, Vanden stepped forward to close the space between them, a tentative hand coming up to brush over Cassian’s cheek. He couldn’t say for certain who leaned in first, nor how long the kiss lasted. As they pulled apart however, Vanden could feel his face heating, swallowing as he stared at his soulmate. 

“Besides,” Cassian said after a moment, “you do look  _ quite  _ nice wearing my henna. I think it is something I would like our friends to see as well.”

* * *

Vanden woke up to the feeling of fingertips brushing feather light touches over his face. He hummed contentedly as they traced over the lines he knew decorated his forehead. Opening his eyes slowly, he smiled softly at his husband, saying a mumbled "morning," as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.

“He speaks,” Cassian commented, eyes crinkling in amusement, “here I was thinking I may actually witness you sleep in.” 

Vanden managed a drowsy chuckled leaning over to press a soft kiss to Cassian’s shoulder, “that will happen the day you sleep a full night.” Without waiting for a response, he climbed out of their bed, making his way down the hall and towards the bathroom to wash up. As he made it to the end of the hall, he noticed familiar writing appear on his once again bare inner arm. 

_ Prick _

Vanden turned over his shoulder, calling out a heatless retort before continuing on, his soulmate’s laughter echoing from their bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> So since starting this fic right after the premiere, I have have Vanden with Cassian's tattoos in my head 24/7, but it was worth it for how fun this fic was to write!!
> 
> Thank you for reading, lovelies!!


End file.
